New Blood (32 page)

She sighed. “True. I am bored.”

“We can't 'ave that, can we? A bored magician is a dangerous magician, ain't that right, Grey?”

“That was
not
my fault.” Grey's voice came wafting from the back where he'd gone to lie down on one of the cots. Apparently the machine had affected him more than he'd let on. “Monkeys are very clever on their own.”

“Why don't you take Elinor back with you?”

“No.” Elinor was protesting almost before Harry completed his suggestion. “If I am your apprentice, I need to stay with you while you are working magic.”

“We might be here all night,” Harry warned. “And Amanusa's leaving.”

“Nevertheless.” The glint in Elinor's eye could almost be called martial, if it wasn't devilish. “If one of these gentlemen is so overcome by my feminine
charms as to make untoward advances, I know I can count on you and Mr. Carteret to rescue me.”

“I'll be one of the ones advancing,” Grey called, causing two of the apprentices and at least one magician to blush.

“An' I'll be blackin' both your eyes,” Harry retorted. “Maybe you ought to take Grey back with you.”

Grey groaned. “No. I can't endure lurching across town in a carriage with this head. They're perfectly capable of getting themselves back to the hotel on their own. Let the betrothed couple have a bit of time alone, you anti-romantic.”

“ 'Ave it your way.” Harry shrugged. “But if I strangles ya, I strangles ya.”

J
AX ESCORTED AMANUSA
out the door while the “discussion” continued. If they waited for formal farewells, they'd be waiting all night. The magicians he remembered hadn't been much for formality. Apparently they hadn't changed a great deal in the passing centuries.

The hired carriage waited in the street, the driver dozing on his box. He was most agreeable to the idea of taking them back to their hotel and returning to wait for the others. Jax had spent plenty of time kicking his heels, waiting for magicians to finish some business or other. Magicians also tended to get a bit testy if they were inconvenienced. The driver would be paid for his time, so he didn't object.

“Do we have to dine at the hotel?” Amanusa asked as they passed the train station, nearing their destination. “We've eaten every meal there.”

“Of course not. We can dine anywhere you like.” Jax smiled. She was easy to please, and he liked pleasing her. Something of a new experience for him. “What would you prefer?”

“That's just it. I don't know. I've never been to Paris before and since we arrived, I've seen dress shops, the hotel, and the conclave chamber. I don't know what I would prefer. I don't know where the best food is served or what—”

Jax rapped on the roof of the carriage with his stick and after a moment, the driver drew the horses to a halt. Jax assisted Amanusa to alight on the elegant street, glittering with lights, angry with himself. He should have realized she would be curious, interested to see the city famed for its culture and cuisine.

“It's not so very late in the evening,” he said as the carriage rattled off. He tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and led her to the sidewalk. “We could still catch a performance of the theater after dinner, if you like.”

“Oh.” Amanusa's hold on his arm tightened. “But that would run very late, wouldn't it? The day already feels like it's been endless. Perhaps another night.” She looked down at her skirts. “And I'm not dressed to dine anywhere
too
elegant.”

Jax smiled down at her. “You would grace the halls of the emperor himself, were you wearing rags. But I would not have you uncomfortable.” He escorted her through the doors of precisely the sort of
establishment she seemed to want—excellent food without too many jewels adorning the patrons.

Dinner was delicious and Amanusa lively and animated, talking of the people they'd met at the laboratory and making guesses as to the experiments being conducted at the various tables. Jax sat back and watched her run on, encouraging her with the occasional comment or question, while his mind ticked over other things. Did she really mean what she'd said? Fiancé was one thing. Partner was another. Did she truly think of him—her blood servant—as a partner?

Her mood seemed to be turning pensive as she spooned up her crème brûlée. Jax maintained his appearance of ease, but inside, the tension returned. Until Amanusa, he'd never noticed his tension, because until Amanusa, it had never entirely left him. He'd never relaxed completely because he'd never known how Yvaine would react to anything, or what she might demand of him.

Yvaine might have rescued him from the Inquisition, as Amanusa had. But she might as easily have considered his sacrifice her due and escaped without him. Amanusa never would. Jax was as certain of that as he was of the sun's rise every morning. He belonged to her. She would never abandon him carelessly, like one might leave behind a pair of boots that had outlasted their usefulness. He was her servant. Her responsibility.

During their passage through the dead zone, his belief in how she thought of him had been strained almost to breaking. She seemed to value him more highly than most would value a servant. One did not
allow a servant such close contact—wrapped around her skin-to-skin, as near to naked as made no difference. He was her pet, he'd decided. A faithful hound whose head she had held when he was so ill.

But one did not introduce a pet as one's fiancé. Why had she done it? Surely she couldn't still intend—She had tried out her name with his. But she'd been joking. Hadn't she?

He hadn't laid claim to the Greyson name in order to have a name to present her with when they married. Had he? No. He'd just wanted a name. A whole name. A man's name.

So she would think of him as a man and not a pet.

Dear God, he was falling in love with her. Why else would he be wanting to reclaim his manhood?

And he was still a blood servant. Not a man. Not an ordinary servant who could leave a bad master and seek another. Not even a pet. He was a tool. A magical instrument.

Instruments did not fall in love.

He already had.
Bloody hell.

Amanusa licked her spoon clean and laid it in her empty bowl. “Jax? Didn't you like it?”

He realized he'd taken only one bite of his dessert. “It's excellent.” He laid his spoon down. “But I'm afraid I consumed too much at dinner to do it justice. Would you like it?”

She looked covetously at his nearly untouched dish. “I shouldn't. I'm sure I've eaten quite as much as you, and I'm not nearly so large. Though I shall be twice as large as I am now if I keep eating this way.”

Jax chuckled. She had no ability to dissemble. It was a wonder they'd survived the outlaws' camp,
given her propensity for blurting out the truth. Fortunately, Szabo thought her threats amusing. He pushed the dish of crème brûlée toward her. “We'll walk back to the hotel to make up. It's only fair. I did finish your beef.”

Amanusa bit her lip as she watched the dish slide toward her. “It is very good.”

“Exactly.” He nudged it a fraction closer. “Indulge while you can. Crème brûlée can be difficult to find in the wilds of Scotland.”

She didn't reply. Her spoon was in her mouth. Her eyes fluttered closed as she savored the sweet dessert and when they opened, her thoughtful mood had returned. Jax braced himself for whatever it might mean.

“The gentlemen at the laboratory were most enthusiastic,” she said as she spooned up another tiny bite. She seemed to be of the “make it last as long as possible” school of dessert-eaters, rather than the “gobble it down” faction, though she did appear to belong to the “and then look for more” subset.

She took the bite, savored it a moment before she swallowed, then spoke again. “Some of the magicians at the conclave were pleased by the reappearance of my magic. But not all of them. I think not even most of them.”

“You are probably correct.” Jax curled his palm over the heavy silvered head of his new walking stick where it leaned against their table. He'd refused to give it in to the coat closet at the door to the restaurant. “Ignorance and fear flourish where there is no one to avert it with truth.”

“You said that you would marry me, if I asked
again when we reached Paris.” She watched the spoon stirring the molded dessert into a tumble for another moment before laying it aside. She looked up at him. “I am asking. If you absolutely can't bear the idea, I won't insist, but Jax—I'm so afraid that we'll need the magic. The—the—” Her eyes flicked to the diners around them lingering over their demitasse cups. “You know.”

“Amanusa.” He was reaching for her hand before he realized it, and stopped himself, his hand resting awkwardly in the middle of the table. He lowered his voice so the murmur of conversation and clinking silver around them would cloak his words from all but Amanusa. “I am your servant. I—”

“You're an earl,” she interrupted. Her hand met his in the center of the table, gripped it tight.

“Not anymore. Not for three hundred years. I'm a servant. I don't know how to be anything else. You deserve better than being tied to me. Let me—”

“But I'm already tied to you.” Amanusa shook her head. “And I don't want anyone else. I don't trust anyone else. Jax, you
promised.
”

Abruptly, she let go of him. She stood, her voice utterly cold, calm and un-Amanusa-like. “I won't force myself where I'm not wanted. We'll go straightaway to Scotland and look for the spells to break your binding.” She whirled and wove her way through the tables toward the exit, as if desperate to get away, to hide from him. So it wasn't anger that gripped her. When she was angry, she didn't run away, she shouted.

“Amanusa—” What was wrong? The only time she hid from him . . . was when she was hurt. Upset.
Was she upset? Why? Didn't she understand? It wasn't proper, what she proposed. Jax threw a fistful of francs on the table and hurried after her, remembering at the last minute to grab his stick.

He caught up with her in time to hold the door for her departure. “Amanusa,” he began again, striding down the street beside her. “It's not that I don't—
Amanusa.
” He caught her arm and pulled her round to face him. “Stop. I can't talk to your bonnet. I can't talk to you when you're racing away from me.”

“I don't see that there's anything to talk about.” She jerked away from him and started off again in her ground-covering peasant's stride. It made her skirts rustle and bounce. “Just leave me alone.”

Jax caught her by the waist this time, spun her in a left-face maneuver, and pointed her across the street. “I can't. Our hotel is in that direction.” Why wouldn't she listen? He hadn't said anything for her to be upset about. She couldn't be upset.

He gave her a little nudge off the curb, then captured her hand and wound it through the crook of his arm, holding tight when she would have pulled away. Angry with himself for saying whatever it was he said, Jax lost the last frayed edge of his patience. “Stop it,” he said. “You're acting like a child.”

She fought harder to pull free and when Jax refused to let go, she kicked him in the ankle. Utter shock that she would do such a thing made him loosen his grip and she jerked free, breaking into a run, darting down an unlit alleyway.

With a curse, Jax was after her. She couldn't run well in those skirts. “Amanusa!” He dropped his
stick as he hauled her into his arms, wrapping her up so she couldn't hit him with those flying fists, not any more than she already had. “Amanusa, what is wrong with you?”

“I'm a child. Isn't that what you said?” she retorted. “Of course anyone would be, compared to you. Not everyone can live to be three hundred and what? Thirty-seven? Three hundred forty-three?”

“I don't know.” He tried for levity. “Once one gets past two hundred fifty, birthdays lose a bit of relevance.”

Amanusa growled and fought harder to break free, obviously not amused. Jax had to be quick to grab a fresh hold every time she managed to break it. She was not a small, easily subdued sort of female. “Will you stop fighting and just listen to me?” he gasped out.

“Why?” She wriggled one of her pinned arms up between their bodies and got her hand under his jaw, pushing his head back hard enough he thought she might take it off. “What are you going to say I haven't heard a dozen times already?”

“I might already have said it,” he snarled through his forced-shut jaw, “but you didn't listen.”

In a flash, he let go with one hand, grabbed her wrist at his chin, and spun her around, pulling her back against his front, her arms crossed and pulled tight to either side in a sort of straitjacket, with himself as the jacket. She struggled futilely to escape, kicking at his shins and stomping at his feet. He had to step lively to keep unstomped and relatively un-kicked until finally she subsided.

“I listened,” she growled at him. “You don't want
to marry me. Fine. Don't. I said I wouldn't force you and I won't. You want my permission to have sex with every woman in Paris? You have it. Feel free. But don't you dare tell me you're doing it for my own good.
Don't you dare.
”

Each word flayed another piece from Jax's hide.

“Maybe I didn't listen.” Her voice was softer now. “Maybe I didn't understand how strongly you feel about this, about not wanting to marry me—but you didn't listen either. I told you, Jax. I told you why I asked.”

He had heard every word, had ached for the things she'd endured. But to tie herself in marriage to one such as him?

“You promised.” She stopped struggling, stood motionless in his grasp. Now he heard her tears and was flayed anew. He felt raw. Exposed.